The Battered Lamp Ch. 03

The greasy smoke twitched, curled, then started drifting down the hill, following the rat's trail. The Ifrit smiled; it wouldn't be long before she found Aaliyah and snuffed out the little Jann's life. Her own life depended on it--Sultan Rashid bin Al-Marid did not suffer failure lightly.

She followed the smoke down the hills side and, for the thousandth time, she wondered how the lamp had been found after she had sunk the knight's ship. Zaritha had never failed the Sultan before and her fiery anger burned hot inside her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Acre -- 1160 AD

Alphonse of Toulouse fingered the brass lamp as his boat slipped anchor, heading out into the Mediterranean to take the knight home. The lamp vexed him. He could sense there was something important about it; that a Moorish spell had been placed upon it. He was certain of it--the column of fire had led him to those Moslems for a reason.

For this lamp.

The voyage was long, boring, and puzzling over the lamp occupied his time.

As they sailed past Sicily, a storm rose up, howling with all the rage of hell. Alphonse almost imagined a woman's voice in the wind, laughing in malicious delight. The ship's keel broke, and the knight sank beneath the waves, clutching the lamp. His dying thoughts were full of frustration--he had never found the lamp's secret.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sicily -- 1902 AD

The day before Nicoletta Bello left for America, she wanted to have one last walk on the beach of her beautiful, impoverished home. She savored the smell of the Mediterranean, knowing she would never see her again. The waves washed over her feet, and the sand squelched as she walked and skipped and laughed and cried.

On her walk back home, she noticed something shining in the surf. A battered lamp was half-buried in the sand, tarnished by age. Excitement trembled through her; the lamp tingled in her hand--it was special.

As the Citta di Milano sailed across the Atlantic, Nicoletta pondered over the old, brass lamp. But she failed to penetrate its secrets by the time her ship docked at Ellis Island. Within an hour of clearing immigration, her luggage had been stolen. To the day she died, she couldn't stop thinking about the lamp and often wondered what the thief had done with it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

New York City -- 1902 AD

"It's a right deal," Sean Murphy proclaimed as August Harper examined the brass lamp. "Give it to you for a dollar."

August carefully examined the brass lamp he held in his ebony hands. "It be dented and tarnished. I'll give you a half dollar."

"Hey! What you tryin' to pull!" the Irish street urchin complained.

"Half-dollar," August repeated. He didn't make that much as a sailor, but there was something special about this lamp. It had some hoodoo about it. "It's rubbish. I'm doin' you a favor."

"Half-dollar and a quarter," Sean shot back. "Ain't taken a penny less!"

"How 'bout a half-dollar and a dime."

"Fine," Sean sighed. "You rippin' me off, negro."

August never could figure out what sort of hoodoo the lamp possessed. Three months later, when he returned home to South Carolina, he gave it to his pretty daughter Marjorie, smiling as her eyes lit up when she saw the lamp.

That made it worth every penny.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Seattle -- 1918 AD

Marjorie smiled when she unpacked the lamp.

The last gift her pa had ever given her. A week later, he had taken a job on a merchantman and a storm had sunk his ship. She stroked the brass lamp, feeling the energy tingling through her fingers. The lamp possessed some hoodoo, and holding it always made her aches disappear, and she had more than a few these days. She waddled awkwardly across her living room to the mantle of the red-bricked fireplace, setting the lamp upon it. She sighed, and turned back to the boxes, wishing Nathaniel, her husband, was here to help her unpack their tiny apartment.

But he had found work on a fishing boat--the reason they packed up and moved across the whole country--and was on his way up to the Bearing Sea. She gave a quick prayer that he would return safe to see their son or daughter. She rubbed her belly; their first child should be born any day now.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Puyallup -- 2001 AD

Dafon walked into Curious Treasures, one of the many antique stores in downtown Puyallup, with a box of his Great-Grandmother's possessions. It still surprised him that she had died. She had seemed immortal sitting on her porch evening after evening, ready to snuggle one of her many great-grandchildren's children. But Marjorie Collins had lived a good 103 years on this Earth, blessed with a large family.

Who left all the work of taking care of her estate to me, he groused in his mind as he set the box on the counter.

The owner was a fussy Asian man, half-bent, with only a few wisps of his gray hair still sprouting from his liver-spotted head. He sorted through Dafon's box, clucking his tongue. "Most of this is worthless I'm afraid," he wheezed, his voice dry sandpaper rubbing together. "I'll give you twenty for the brass lamp and another thirty for this stuff here."

Dafon never gave another thought to the lamp. It rested on a shelf for twelve years until a young man came in and bought it on a lark.

To be continued...